"You dead, pal?"
Yes, I'm as dead as one can be. Now go away. You're too bright—my eyes are burning.
Heyy, why are you coming closer? No, no, go away. I won't stand. Let me lie here like the dead until nightfall.
What? Others feel awkward? So what if they feel awkward? If they want to become writers, they have to forget emotions. Let the characters suck your senses dry and become an empty vessel—a medium to tell their story.
"Come on, man. Show some energy! Look at all these young, aspiring authors. They're here because they're inspired by you."
No, please. That sounds like a lot of hard work. Why am I not hated like you?
"Okay, I get it—you don't want to be popular. But you didn't have to burn me for it. It's already sad that my comment section is filled with hate threads... and now you too?"
Have you ever thought about not killing the most innocent, lovely, and lovable character in your work?
"But I write murder mysteries. They have to suffer a helpless, brutal demise. That way, the pain and suffering of others turns into obsession, emptiness, guilt, fury, and despair."
Wow. I wish I could be hated like you. No one's ever said to me, 'If something happens to them, I will put a bounty on you.' Please—someone, hate me. I want to create a character who turns over a new leaf for his pregnant wife... only to be killed by some unknown psychopath with way too many connections.
Life is so unfair.
Look at you—you look like a character that came straight out of my book.
"Seriously?"
"Don't you think me becoming like my character would be a lot more problematic? Officers don't really have powers like psychometry or premonition."
First of all, stop that creepy smile. I get your point. But still—I wanna be hated. It makes life so much easier.
Look—there! Not again.
How many times is she going to talk to me? She even took a selfie with me yesterday, and made my life harder by dragging her friends and followers into the workshop.
"Mr. Heading! I read your new novel, Duke Valentine and His Mischievous Emerald, that just hit the market yesterday. I loved it! Is he your inspiration for the Duke? He looks exactly how you described him in the novel!"
"Oh, you did? That's... kind of awkward."
I rubbed my face.
"I have nothing against you. I know I look charming and have a great personality—but I've never looked at you like that. Plus, I'm happily engaged."
No, I was just too lazy to think of a new character. Then suddenly, you came slamming the door open because you couldn't hear my breathing. Honestly, that's kind of creepy. How do you even hear people breathe?
"You have to see the world through the eyes of your characters—no matter how twisted they are."
Again with that creepy smile.
Cover your face like a mummy. I don't want to see it.
"Heyy, that's rude! We've known each other since childhood. We were inseparable!"
Like hell we were. You just dragged me around, and I had no energy to resist.
"But you loved our neighborhood amusement park—and you always ate the ice cream so happily whenever we went there!"
No—that was my disgusted face. And I was scared witless to even react on the rides. Seriously. These extroverts...
"I'm sorry to cut into your conversation, but I came to call you for class. It's 2 a.m."
Okay, fine. I'm coming. Stop dragging me by the legs—I can walk.
Calm down. Calm down, self.
Everything's going to be okay. Just think happy thoughts.
Happy thoughts... happy thoughts...
Daydreams where I didn't need any editing...
Huff... huff...
Here we go again.
Oh no. Way too many people.
I'm just gonna die for a few hours.
"You dead, pal?"